


Be brave that we may shine

by elareine



Series: And Earth is but a star, that once had shone [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Space, First Meetings, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Space Pirates, Supernatural Elements, oh that's a tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-24 04:13:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30066477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elareine/pseuds/elareine
Summary: TheOutlawleaves port at New Gotham carrying a stowaway. Something is off about this ship—but to stem the rising tide of violence on Tim’s home world, he might have no choice but to make a deal with the devil.
Relationships: Tim Drake/Jason Todd
Series: And Earth is but a star, that once had shone [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2212017
Comments: 16
Kudos: 80
Collections: JayTim Week 2021





	Be brave that we may shine

**Author's Note:**

> Written for day one of JayTim week for the prompts “space” and “pirates.” Many thanks once again to the lovely mods!
> 
> This is the opening chapter to a larger series in this universe. I’ve had the idea ages ago, but with one thing or another I knew that I wouldn’t be able to do it justice for today. Xavierurban had the great idea to make it a series, instead <3
> 
> I have a tumblr, where's there's [a fic giveaway happening right now](https://elareine.tumblr.com/post/645675773069590528/i-havent-really-done-anything-to-celebrate) in relation to this week, in case you're interested. 
> 
> Fic and series title from “The Golden Journey to Samarkand” by James Elroy Flecker.

The ship lay in the harbor, dark and foreboding and altogether strange. 

If only he’d had any other choice, Tim would’ve taken any other vessel. There was way too little information available about the _Outlaw_ : no shipment record, no tracking number, no crew listings. Tim was pretty fucking sure that _Outlaw_ wasn’t even the ship’s real name, and that opened up a whole new batch of questions—what could the ship have been christened originally that the name _Outlaw_ , of all things, was the more inconspicuous choice? 

Well. It looked like Tim was about to find out. 

He schooled his features into something that hopefully resembled ‘calm and absolutely supposed to be here’ and made his way up the gangplank. 

In make and built, the ship closely resembled a 3056-er model of the _Nimitz_ class: a nuclear-powered, medium-sized battleship, quick in battle but steady over long distances. Of course, it was impossible that any of these old ships were still around; they’d been decommissioned decades before Tim had been born. This was clearly a reproduction commissioned by some lover of historic sailing methods. 

Tim had bet a lot on that history lover making his recreation historically accurate. If that cargo tunnel wasn’t where he thought it would be…. 

Ah. _There._

With one last glance at the deserted docks, Tim ducked away into the darkness. 

His thumb pressed down on the signal-scrambler in his pocket—that should take care of the cameras. Not exactly his most subtle work, but enough for now. 

He crept along the corridors as quietly as he could. The rails gleamed; he had to be careful to stay away from their sharp edges. The ship was clearly well-maintained. That eased his fears somewhat; it would’ve sucked to successfully make it off-planet just for the ship to fall apart in space. 

_Focus, Tim._ He forced his gaze up at the ceiling. 

The _Nimitz_ class had a particular idiosyncrasy newer generations didn’t: small hideaway spaces above the loading tunnels, just big enough to fit a few men in an emergency. Apparently, back then, the tunnels had been used for re-fuelling, too, the non-variations vessels having to run on gases. Which were highly flammable. Hence the idea of giving the workers somewhere to hide… if they were quick enough. 

Nowadays, no-one used non-renewable energy anymore, and the loading was all done by robots, anyway. With any luck, those rooms hadn’t seen humans in years. At the same time, protocol indicated that they should receive air and stay under pressure, which Tim’s body would surely appreciate. He’d been able to snatch a simple oxyhelmet when he left, but that would only get him so far. 

There. A latch in the ceiling. 

While it was tempting to hide in the first hole he found and never come out, Tim kept walking. The second latch passed him by, and then the third; he didn’t stop before he saw the fourth one. This should be the one closest to the bridge, deep in the bowl of the ship. 

It wasn’t easy to open the latch or get up there—why they had been put on the ceiling instead of the floor was beyond Tim. Finally, he managed to grasp the retractable ladder and heave himself up there. 

The room was just what he expected. Completely bare, floor covered in metal. Tim nodded to himself and set up shop. 

The first thing he took out of his bag was his tablet. A few swipes and his home-made decryption program began its work. An hour or two, and Tim would have full access to the ship’s internal security systems. He’d substitute the recordings of the glitches he’d caused earlier with old footage, then. 

The second thing he took out was his staff, set to ‘electric shock.’ Just in case. Then he settled down as comfortably as he could, cross-legged on the floor. 

Tim had brought one of his best friend’s sweatshirts along, but taking a blanket or anything like that would’ve been too obvious. Tim pulled the garment over his head and leaned back against the wall with a sigh. It was only gonna get colder when they left port, so he might as well get used to the chill now. 

The quiet hum of machines around him calmed his heartbeat. 

On a ship, Tim could wreak havoc with just his tablet and the right network access key; unlike planetside, where he was hopelessly outgunned and outmanned, surrounded by—he wasn’t thinking about that now. 

The _Outlaw_ would leave in the morning. Their first officer, a redhead with one arm and a drinking problem, had been wining about it in the pub all evening. 

Three hours until departure. Tim settled in to wait. 

Morning came, and with it, good news and bad news. 

Good news: Tim was still undiscovered. That was better than he’d hoped and the most important thing. 

Bad news: Something was off. 

He hadn’t dared access their communications or outside defense systems—those were solidly protected, and the slightest misstep would send an urgent alert to the bridge. 

Their internal security cameras, however… those were free game. After editing himself out of existence, Tim spent the rest of the morning watching the crew go through the motions of getting the ship ready for departure. It all looked fairly standard until the engines fired up and the first mate began steering the ship out of the harbor. 

That… that was weird. There should have been an inspection. The Authority didn’t let anyone leave without carefully going through their cargo. Tim had been reasonably sure he would’ve survived an inspection attempt, hiding away where he was, but for there to not have been _any_? When news of his betrayal had probably already been broadcast? Really fucking weird. 

The longer Tim watched the crew, the more he thought something about _them_ was off, too. They handled the heavy cargo with too much ease. He hadn’t seen a single robot, either. Once, he even thought one of them had walked through a wall. 

Or maybe he was just tired, hurt, and paranoid, staring at grainy footage for too long. 

The throbbing in his side was becoming harder to ignore. Tim didn’t _think_ he’d lost a dangerous amount of blood. Hopefully. It just hurt like a son of a bitch. 

Even worse was the tiredness he could feel creeping through his veins. Tim fought against it for as long as he could, but eventually, the silence and the quiet vibrations of the engines got to him. 

He fell asleep. 

Awareness crept back in slowly. Every inch of Tim’s bones felt heavy, his eyelids almost impossible to open. Underneath him, the ground was hard and cold and unforgiving. As if in protest, he grabbed his blanket and pulled it closer to him, attempting to cocoon himself against the harshness of reality. 

…his blanket. 

He hadn’t brought a blanket. 

“You know, we’ve been receiving a lot of strongly-worded requests to search our ship for a young escaped nobleman.” 

Tim’s eyes flew open, sheer panic both waking him up fully and having him freeze. A man was sitting against the opposite wall, studying Tim with a bemused expression on his face. 

_Danger_ , Tim’s brain screamed, and it wasn’t just because of the obvious fact of his discovery as a stowaway. That man… he looked like he’d Seen Things and Done Things. 

A grey streak ran through his hair, though Tim didn’t think he was that old. His right eye was covered with an old-fashioned eyepatch—Tim hadn’t seen any of these in years—and there was a faint outline of a scar on his left cheek. It was hard to tell in this position, but he seemed to be tall and relatively broad, just judging from the muscles in those shoulders. 

A rather-old fashioned gun was lying on the ground just next to his right hand. Tim didn’t kid himself that its age meant that it was any less lethal. 

…he should probably say something, huh? 

“Maybe you should have put better security measures into place then.” 

_Something, Tim, not **that**._ Snarking back at the dangerous-looking guy who just found a stowaway was maaaaybe not the best plan. 

There was a smirk on the guy’s face, though. “Yeah, cause most people aren’t fucking stupid enough to break _into_ this ship.” 

Tim shrugged. “Got me past the security checkpoint, didn’t it?” 

“Yeah, about that.” The man lifted an eyebrow. “Care to tell me why they’re looking so very hard for Tim Drake, absconding scion of the nobility?” 

“Why do you wanna know?” Tim asked back, face unmoved at the mention of his name. “So you can sell me out for a higher price?” 

A snort. “There’s nothing in your pack that’s worth the Authority freaking out over. So whatever it is, it’s contained either in that tablet you’re clutching—nice program, by the way, we only found that once we found you—or in your brain. I, personally, would like to know what info has the esteemed New Gotham Authority in such a tizzy that they’re ready to talk to _us_.” 

“ _Talk to us?_ You make it sound as if you’re some kind of diplomatic vessel.” Tim stopped. “Wait, I didn’t stumble onto an undercover Lantern operation, did I?” 

The man laughed heartily at that. “No such luck. We’re not cops.” 

“Pirates, then.” 

“Something like that.” That teal eye mustered him, amusement still evident. “If you’re not gonna tell me what you carry—tell me where you’re going.” 

“I need to talk to the League.” The words were difficult to get past his throat. “They need to intervene in Gotham.” 

There was a flare of interest in the other man’s eyes at that. “They’ve been turning a blind eye on the Authority for years. What makes you think you can change their minds?” 

“With what I have… they’ll have to.” Tim had to believe that. “And if not… I’m not beyond going public.” And be killed, most likely. Ah, well. 

The man seemed to think about that. Tim held his gaze steadily. 

Finally, a nod. “Okay. If we head straight to the Watchtower, it’s gonna be obvious what’s happening, and I’d rather not take on a whole fucking fleet.” (Tim noted that the guy said ‘take on,’ not ‘be pulverized by.’ He was starting to think he might just be in slightly over his head here.) “Did you consider that when you decided to stow away on a random ship?” 

Tim swallowed but nodded. The grave danger he was putting this ship in had been obvious, but… “I had to take the risk.” 

“Hmm.” The man leaned back, relaxing. His hand was still next to the gun. “Our usual route—with some tweaking—leads us to the Watchtower in about six months.” 

Tim held his breath. That sounded like—

“If we meet any Lanterns on the way, feel free to recruit them instead,” the man continued, “if not, we’ll get you there.” 

“I don’t have any money.” Not anymore. No way to transfer his parents’ funds without arousing suspicion. 

“Then you’ll just have to earn your keep.” The man’s gaze fell on the tablet on Tim’s lap, and he frowned. “Starting by teaching us how to prevent that particular editing job from happening again.” 

“Yeah, you got some pretty big gaps in your system.” 

“Don’t rub it in.” The man got up, and Tim had been right: He was tall, at least a head taller than Tim, and he moved as if he was ready to pounce any second. All he did, though, was stop in front of Tim and bend down slightly to offer Tim his hand.

“Alright. I can’t waste any more time on this; I got a ship to run, after all. Do we have a deal?” 

Tim didn’t trust him. Something was off about this ship—something the man wasn’t telling him. 

However… what choice did he have? 

“Deal.” Tim took his hand. 

The man grinned and shook it once before stepping back. 

“My name’s Jason. I’m your new captain.” With one fluid motion, he heaved open the hatch and called down: “Hey, Roy! Get our newest crew member to a decent cabin and patch him up, will you?” 

“Aye, aye,” an amused voice replies. “Done with your little show, then, Jay?” 

“Yeah.” Jason grinned at Tim. “Welcome aboard.” 


End file.
